


Happiness never held on to me until you helped me see

by RonnieMinor



Series: Of books and boys [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, BAMF Lydia, Birthday, Chance Meetings, Irish Derek, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor/pseuds/RonnieMinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our hero makes new friends and meets new people. Namely Derek's family.</p><p>Stiles gave up on anything being anywhere <em>near</em> standard a while back.</p><p>(Sequel to: Second-hand bookshops are the new romantic backdrops, and This is non-stop baby, you got me going crazy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. England

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is dedicated to everyone who commented on the previous parts of this series, but especially to those who wanted a sequel/suggested ideas for said sequels. Thank you all SO much and my deepest apologies for this taking such a long time to come into being.
> 
> To quote myself: "Also, this degenerates into shameless, shameless fluff at the end. You have been warned." Although in all honest the fluff is everywhere.
> 
> The title is taken from 'Dress and Tie', by Charlene Kaye, feat. Darren Criss.

‘You know, I take back everything I ever said about missing this place.’ Lydia looks over at Stiles and at the plane window, where the grey sky and pouring rain are clearly visible. ‘I mean _seriously_ , what kind of weather is this?’  


Stiles nods. ‘Yeah, you’re totally right’, he says, and then spends the next fifteen minutes in silence, listening to Lydia rant about the crappy UK climate.  


Returning to England after their month away is something of a shock to the system. Lydia mutters balefully under her breath the entire time she and Stiles wait for their luggage, glaring at all and sundry as if everyone else is the reason why it’s tipping it down outside. Stiles carefully stays out of arms reach and buys her a cup of coffee at the soonest opportunity. She sips at it angrily, still practically shooting laser beams from her eyes until it’s about half gone, at which point her furious aura dials back a little. Admittedly, she now only looks _vaguely_ murderous as opposed to full-blown psychotic, but Stiles is going to count that as a win.  


When he sees Derek at the arrivals gate though, all thoughts of Lydia instantly disappear. True, Stiles holds on to her suitcase, but that’s mainly because he doesn’t have a death wish. So he just drags it (and his bag, and Lydia’s other bag) along until he’s in front of Derek. Then he unceremoniously dumps everything on the floor, ignores Lydia’s squawk at the treatment of her things, wraps his arms around Derek and just sort of _slumps_ in relief. Derek does a sterling service of holding Stiles up, mainly by dint of being like a very muscular wall, complete with convenient handholds (biceps, waist, hips, ass…) but also by returning Stiles’ hug.  


‘You are the best boyfriend ever’, Stiles mumbles into Derek’s neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather with a happy sigh. ‘Best boyfriend _ever_. In fact, when I next have money that isn’t getting blown on alcohol or food or books I am going to buy you one of those mugs that say stupid things like ‘world’s best teacher’ on them. Except I’ll have it made specially so it says ‘World’s best boyfriend’, or maybe, ‘Derek is the world’s best boyfriend’. Or maybe just ‘world’s best Derek’. That could work too.’  


‘Stiles.’  


‘Yes, world’s best boyfriend?’  


‘Shut up.’  


Stiles sighs happily. ‘Yeah ok.’

* * *

After the hug there’s some making out, cut short by Lydia’s pointed foot tapping and accompanying vomiting noises. Then there’s the trek to the car, which seems to be several miles away ( _god_ Stiles hates Heathrow) and the journey back home, during which time Stiles falls asleep. When he wakes up, Derek and Lydia are both laughing, which serves to make Stiles both panicky and downright concerned for his own wellbeing. He relaxes a little when nothing _seems_ to be wrong, but makes a mental note to be on alert over the next couple of days, just in case.  


It’s one of the great tragedies of his life that Derek and Lydia have actually become _friends_.  


Still, he ignores the fact that at some point they’re both probably going to realise that Stiles is a loser and skip off into the sunset to get platonically married and take over the world, in favour of looking out of the window and watching the scenery go by. In a moment of uncharacteristic sappiness (which is actually pretty characteristic, but Stiles will deny it ‘til the cows come home) his heart sort of _squeezes_ when Oxford starts to come into view, the rain from earlier having faded once they headed north. Now the skies are clear and Stiles feels a real sense of contentment as Derek drives them down familiar streets, pulling up outside the house that Stiles and Lydia are renting for second year. With a groan, he heaves himself out of his seat – and how did he end up in the back when he’s the one having awesome sex with Derek? – and heads round to the trunk of the car (which he will never call the ‘boot’, no matter how much Derek teases him about how American he sounds) to start grabbing luggage.  


Lydia, of course, does nothing at all, instead standing in the street to direct Stiles on what bags to carry what way and snapping at him when it looks like her Louis Vuitton luggage (tacky, so tacky, although Stiles will never say within her hearing) might be in danger of picking up a speck of dust. Derek contributes by carrying twice as much stuff as Stiles in half the time. All in all, it’s a fairly emasculating experience.  


‘Lydia, where do you want all this crap?’ Stiles shouts down the stairs, sweating and red-faced.  


Lydia’s voice is sharp as she says, ‘It is not _crap_ Stiles, and I’d like it in the guest room please.’ Stiles makes a face, safe in the knowledge that Lydia can’t see him and therefore cannot punish him for his insolence, before grabbing Lydia’s suitcase and putting it in ‘the guest room’.  


The guest room is kind of a sore point between Stiles and Lydia, actually. Back when they started looking for a place to live in second year (because obviously they’d be living together, no discussion needed) Stiles had assumed that they’d find a third or maybe even fourth person to share with. Admittedly, there’s nobody that he’s anywhere _near_ to being as close with as Lydia, but he’s got some good friends from his course, some buddies on the hockey team (because lacrosse isn’t really a thing in the UK apparently) and a fair few people who he’s got to know from nights out/bumping into them regularly on campus. As for Lydia… well people would probably line up round the block – or whatever the English equivalent is – to live with her. It’s a mystery to Stiles how anyone who is as utterly terrifying as Lydia still manages to be so ridiculously desirable, but then what does he know? It’s not like he was in love with her for over a decade or anything.  


 _Anyway_ , the fact is, they could totally have found someone, or even a couple of someones who both of them liked and/or tolerated enough to share a house with. In fact, Stiles was fully expecting that’s what they’d do. Lydia had other ideas though, and after a lot of arguing and general nastiness, Stiles gave in – not least because he was beginning to worry about the safety of his testicles. So they’re now renting a house with enough room for three people between the two of them, which is expensive and _not_ what Stiles wanted at all. And Lydia has the audacity to call it ‘the guest room’, when what she really means is, ‘Lydia’s second bedroom/walk-in-closet’. Stiles drops Lydia’s giant suitcase – seriously, you could cart a couple of bodies around in it – in the room and goes back to get the rest of her stuff.  


He fully plans to sulk for the rest of the day, but when Lydia starts cooking spaghetti bolognese and Derek volunteers to make garlic bread, all his grumpiness disappears. What can he say? Food is his kryptonite.

* * *

A couple of days later, Stiles has just handed over to Lydia at _vetus libro tabernam_ and is on the way to finding some form of fast food for lunch when his phone goes. Scowling at it, he flips it open and makes a face when he sees that not only have student accommodation got hold of his number, but they also want to speak to him. As soon as possible.  


Stiles chooses to wilfully ignore this in favour of getting food.  


When he’s done stuffing his face, the guilt kicks in though. Lydia would be so disappointed in him for putting his own desires (because to Lydia, food is not a necessity – she seems to survive purely on coffee and sheer force of will most days) ahead of business. Hating himself for having a Lydia-shaped conscience and hating Lydia for existing, Stiles forces his footsteps in the direction of the student accommodation main office.  


Typically, there’s nobody around when he gets there. Scowling at the empty desk as if it’s the reason he’s here, Stiles wanders over to where the ad board is, absently skimming over various people searching for a house/new housemate/ironing board/traffic cone – yeah, _really_ – and humming tunelessly. It takes him a full five minutes to realise that he’s not alone.  


‘Oh hey man, sorry, didn’t see you there’, he says cheerfully, because he will always talk to strangers given the chance – cops’ kids don’t have many ways to rebel. ‘What’re you looking for? It’s not a traffic cone, is it?’  


The guy looks at him strangely, and considering he’s at least six foot two and hench a hell, it’s kind of intimidating. Stiles points at the ad. The guy frowns. ‘No’, he says, and hallelujah, a fellow American! ‘I’m looking for a room.’  


Stiles nods. ‘Cool. Well it looks like you’re spoiled for choice really.’ He waves at the board. ‘I’m guessing a lot of people had housemates who didn’t pass their exams.’ And yeah, the relief Stiles feels at having made it through first year with a 2:1 is _overwhelming_.  


The guy shrugs. ‘Maybe. It doesn’t matter though – I’ve already checked out all these houses. None of them are going to work out.’  


And wow, ok, that sounds pretty shit. ‘Really?’ Stiles asks, because he’s both nosy and kind of dumb sometimes. ‘I mean, there are quite a lot of ads here. I sure like _one_ of them had to be ok or -’  


‘No. They weren’t.’ The guy looks away, his jaw tightening. ‘I don’t know many people here’, he says after a moment. ‘Actually, I don’t really know anyone.’ He shrugs again, eyes flickering to Stiles’ briefly before returning to the board. ‘I don’t talk much. It makes people uncomfortable.’  


Inside the soft, squishy cavity of Stiles’ chest, his heart gives this sad little squeeze. He feels his mouth turn down in an unhappy pout and realises that he’s about to do something that’s probably more than a little stupid.  


He does it anyway.

* * *

‘Lydia! Lydia? Pearl in my oyster? Apple of my eye? Fire of my -’  


‘You better not have been about to say ‘loins’, Stiles’, Lydia says sharply, appearing out of nowhere with the same level of freakish ninja skill as usual. There’s a pleased glint in her eyes though, so Stiles knows he’s not in any immediate danger of death by warrior-queen. That might change soon.  


Lydia takes in the guy standing beside Stiles and raises an eyebrow, giving him an assessing glance. ‘Who’s this, Stiles? A new friend? Do I need to make an extra helping of dinner?’  


‘Umm, yes?’ Stiles says tentatively. ‘And maybe move your suitcases out of the guest room? Please?’  


‘Stiles.’  


‘Lydia?’  


‘ _Stiles_. What did you do?’  


Stiles shrinks back a little, instinctively moves his hands a little closer to his balls just in case, and takes a deep breath. ‘This is Boyd. Boyd doesn’t have anywhere to live because he’s kind of the strong but silent type – much like Derek used to be and still kind of is, remember? – and apparently people don’t respond well to that. Anyway. Boyd needs a room. We have a room. I thought, y’know, two birds with one stone?’ He stops, notes that Lydia hasn’t ripped him limb from limb yet, and tries very hard to make his eyes large and pleading. ‘Please, please, _please_ can we keep him?’ he asks, lisping a little.  


Lydia glares at him. He actually _feels_ his insides wither a little, and gives the world’s most pathetic, ‘Meep’. Lydia frowns hard for a moment, then smiles, looking satisfied that dominance has once more been asserted, turning her gaze to Boyd. If he has any sense, he’ll be looking humble and submissive.  


Apparently he does, because Lydia raises an eyebrow for all of thirty seconds, then smiles again, giving a decisive nod. ‘Ok’, she says. ‘He can stay.’ And just like that, she turns her back and heads into the kitchen, humming tunefully. Stiles hears the sound of a knife against the chopping board and makes a mental note to stay out of her way until after dinner, just to be on the safe side. He turns to look at Boyd, sighing happily. Boyd looks like he might be in shock.  


‘So, do you want the room?’ Stiles asks cheerfully.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Boyd actually fits into the house really well. A large part of it is the fact that, like he said before, he doesn’t say much. This allows Stiles to cheerfully babble away and Lydia to make scathing, searing remarks as normal, both of which are highly important to maintaining the status quo. It _also_ means that Derek has someone to bond with when either Stiles or Lydia is being more intolerable than usual – Stiles swears that Boyd and Derek have special stoic, silent conversations just with their eyebrows or something. In fact, Stiles would be jealous except for the fact that if he had to be silent for more than about an hour while awake, he’d probably explode.  


Anyway, Boyd moves in and turns out to be pretty cool. Stiles learns that he’s a Texan (now living in Virginia), who’s here to study Archaeology and Anthropology of all things. He can also cook a _mean_ barbecue rib. And really, after that life continues pretty much as normal. Derek continues to lurk around the bookshop like a creeper when Lydia’s not looking, pulling Stiles into the stacks for heated makeout sessions up against the first edition Dickens or the second-hand chemistry textbooks. Stiles continues to get an erection when he has to spend too much time anywhere near the Shakespeare or poetry shelves. Lydia carries on making her way towards world domination…  


In fact, things are progressing much as Stiles would expect them to – until they’re not.  


It starts with Derek being conspicuously absent from the bookshop for a week. Now, Stiles is aware that probably sounds like Derek just has better things to do than dry humping his adolescent boyfriend in an old bookshop, but firstly that is clearly untrue, and secondly Derek does actually usually need something when he turns up – the dry humping and making out are just added bonuses. Bonuses? Boni? (Boner!)  


So there’s that, which in itself would bother Stiles – Derek’s PhD is important to Stiles, even if he doesn’t show it and likes to tease Derek about being a sappy, sappy romantic at heart – but it’s not the only thing. There’s also the fact that Derek drops by the house less and less as the next couple of weeks go by, when normally he’s there every other day if not more.  


Lydia frowns when Stiles tells her about his concerns, which is not reassuring. ‘I did notice that he hasn’t been around as much lately’, she says, which basically means that she’s known just as long as Stiles has that something is _not right_ , but she’s just too nice to have brought it up. ‘But you know, maybe his PhD is being troublesome – he did mention there being some issue a while back, didn’t he?’  


Stiles shrugs. ‘Yeah, I mean he was struggling to find extra literary criticism of John Donne’s poetry. I don’t know why that would make him stop hanging out though – normally he likes to vent when there are problems, even if most of it _is_ in the form of serious faces and angry eyebrows.’  


Lydia giggles. ‘True. It’s actually pretty impressive how much he manages to say considering how little he actually speaks most of the time.’ And _that _sparks something in Stiles’ brain. Sticking his head round the living room door, he says,  
__

‘Hey Boyd, has Derek said anything to you lately? Like, has he mentioned any problems or anything? Not with me necessarily, just in general.’  


Boyd turns and looks over the back of the sofa, Horrible Histories playing on the television behind him – children’s tv programs are strangely addictive in this country. He shrugs. ‘Nope.’ Then he turns back to the tv. Stiles narrows his eyes, glares at the back of Boyd’s head and then returning to the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow at Lydia.  


‘Well?’ he mouths at her.  


‘Shady as fuck’, she mouths back. And yeah, that’s what Stiles thought too. He frowns at the kitchen table, mouth turned down unhappily. Lydia slides over to him and gives him a hug. If anything, it makes him feel worse, because Lydia only does sympathy when things are bad.  


She gives him ice cream later (Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough, because she’s an avenging angel in human form) when they’re watching the Notebook for the nine millionth time. It helps a little.  


But Derek’s absences continue and Stiles continues to worry and frown and be all the sad, sad panda things that he just isn’t most of the time. In fact, he even briefly contemplates whether Derek and Boyd are having some super-secret, super-silent affair behind his back, before he dismisses it on account of the fact that he knows for certain sure that Boyd is only into girls. This is for two reasons: first, Stiles has been privy to Boyd not only picking up girls, bringing them home and having noisy, noisy sex with them, and second, because Boyd has _never_ looked at Derek with any form of appreciation. Ever. Now, aside from the fact that Derek is like Adonis incarnate or whatever ( _so_ much chiselled _everything_ ), he is also pretty much a walking, talking incentive for fluid sexuality. To date, Stiles has met approximately ten people who haven’t checked Derek out. Two of those people are Lydia and his dad. Boyd is another one of those ten. So yeah, there’s no secret Boyd/Derek love affair.  


This leads to Stiles’ next thought, which is this: Boyd and Derek having been having super-secret, super-silent conversations with each other (mainly using their eyebrows), during which Derek has told Boyd about whatever is going on with him. Unfortunately, this also means that Stiles will probably never find out what’s going on, not least because Boyd is so stoic and silent that Spartan warriors would probably have worshiped him as a god.  


So he sits and he pines and he fervently, _fervently_ hopes that Derek is just going through a PhD-related rough patch or something and isn’t about to suddenly turn up and dump Stiles’ ass for someone hotter and probably less talkative.  


His hopes are pretty much crushed when Derek comes into _vetus libro tabernam_ one day, after texting ahead to check that Stiles is alone. He looks serious when he comes through the door, and Stiles feels his heart sink into his converse. He bites his lip hard enough to hurt, trying to keep his cool.  


‘Can we talk?’ Derek says. Stiles nods unhappily, scooting round the till to put the ‘back in fifteen’, notice in the door, then heads into the back of the shop. He leans against a table covered with stacks of ‘50 Shades of Grey’ – people keep giving it to them once they’re done reading it and realise that it’s crap; Mr Williams says he’s going to use them on a Guy Fawkes bonfire – and looks at Derek, full of apprehension.  


‘Well?’ he says.  


Derek twists his hands, looking uncharacteristically nervous. ‘Are you ok?’ he asks. ‘You look tired.’  


Stiles frowns, a small spike of anger flaring up in him. If Derek’s going to break up with him, the least he could do is be a dick about it and get it over with quickly. ‘I’m fine’, he says sharply. ‘I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. What did you want to talk about?’  


‘Oh, ok’, Derek says quietly. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. Stiles braces himself for the worst. Derek lets the breath out. ‘Look, there’s really no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to go ahead and get it over with.’ He takes another breath. ‘Will you come to Ireland for Christmas? I mean, will you spend Christmas with me – and my family?’  


Stiles stares at him for a full minute, and then he just sags against the table, knocking a couple of copies of ‘50 Shades’ on to the floor. ‘That’s it?’ he says. ‘ _That’s_ what you wanted to talk about?’  


Derek frowns. ‘Yes, ‘that’s it’. What did you think I was going to say?’ Stiles shoots him a look that says many things, but mainly: _you are an idiot_.  


‘I thought you were breaking up with me!’ he says indignantly. ‘I thought this was it – the moment where you finally decided to tell me that you were leaving me for someone who vaguely resembles a normal human being. Possibly a normal human being with breasts and a vagina, as opposed to a dork with boy parts.’  


Now it’s Derek turn to stare. ‘You thought _what?_ ’ he says, sounding utterly baffled. Stiles gives him another dose of the _‘you are an idiot’_ look.  


‘Don’t look at me like I’m brain-damaged. I mean you’ve been acting weird for _weeks_ now and I’ve barely seen you in the last fortnight! Sure, the sex is still awesome, but I figured any warm body, y’know, possibly with a little guilty compensation thrown in for good measure.’ He gives Derek a look of sheer disbelief. ‘Seriously, can you not see where I’m coming from here?’  


Derek runs a hand across his face. ‘Shite’, he says. ‘Shite, Stiles I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t think how that would look to you.’ He looks at Stiles, desperate and pleading. ‘I just… this is a big deal for me, ok? The last person I brought home… well, you know a little about Kate. You know things didn’t go well.’  


And yeah, Stiles does know a little about Kate, who was Derek’s most serious relationship, lasting a year and ending in messy, messy, painful ways. He doesn’t know much though – in a moment of unusual restraint, it’s the one part of Lydia’s ‘All things Derek Hale’ file which he’s never read thoroughly. So yeah, Derek’s behaviour makes a lot more sense all of a sudden. It doesn’t mean Stiles isn’t pissed though.  


‘I’m sorry’, he says. ‘I didn’t realise you thought I was on the same level as your crazy-ass, evil ex-girlfriend. Obviously I was wrong, seeing as you took such a long time to decide I was fit to meet the family.’  


‘That’s not how it was, Stiles!’ Derek says, and shit, he sounds _pissed_. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He steps towards Stiles, reaching out to brush their fingers together. Stiles wants to pull away – knows he should – but he doesn’t, instead letting Derek lace their fingers together, his thumb rubbing rhythmically against Stiles’ knuckles.  


‘Look’, he says. ‘The reason it took me so long to ask you about this wasn’t because I thought you’re like Kate – Jesus, you’re the least like Kate of anyone I’ve ever met!’ He sighs heavily. ‘I was… I was scared, ok? I was scared that you’d say no. I mean, my family’s huge and a lot to handle. I know that. Plus it’s Christmas, and I wasn’t sure if you were planning to go home, or if you and Lydia had something organised. I just… I was scared.’  


And of all the things Stiles was expecting to hear, that was not one of them.  


Of course, his heart (traitorous and marshmallowy as it is) goes all soft and mushy, followed swiftly by his knees. He looks down at his and Derek’s entwined hands and knows that much as he wants to, there’s no way he can stay mad at Derek now. He lets out an angry huff of air. Damn Derek for pulling out the 'feelings' card.  


‘I’m still pissed off that you didn’t realise that I thought you were going to dump me’, he says. ‘And I’m kind of annoyed that you talked all this over with Boyd instead of me – _yes_ , I know _all_ about that. I’m actually perceptive, unlike you, Mr Neanderthal Wolfman.’ He pauses, letting out a softer sigh. ‘But I’m sorry for getting all shitty with you about this, and I’m kind of sad that you got all freaked about this, because seriously, why would I ever, _ever_ turn down the offer to meet your family? _Especially_ at Christmas, which is the best time of the year and also the best time to meet new people.’ He steps closer into Derek’s space and presses a kiss to his cheek. ‘It’s a really good thing that I love you, Sourwolf, because sometimes you’re a dork of the _biggest_ proportions.’  


And sure, Derek growls at him for all the insults, but he’s smiling and pressing into Stiles’ space and kissing him wet and slow, so Stiles figures he’s forgiven. Of course, the fact that Derek then shoves him up against the table, gets down on his knees and blows Stiles like a pro (and wow, this action is probably hotter than the combined contents of all the copies of ‘50 Shades’ that Stiles nearly comes all over) doesn’t hurt either.

* * *

The next weeks fly past. There’s Derek’s birthday in early November, which involves copious amounts of popcorn and film-watching during the day, and then Stiles and Derek going back to Derek’s to have equally copious amounts of sex, all of which is awesome. A few weeks after that, Lydia, Stiles and Boyd have a mini-Thanksgiving, which is a lot better than last year due, largely to the improved cooking equipment and Boyd, but also because of Derek, who is press-ganged into attending, and clearly enjoys himself even if he won’t admit it. And then, before Stiles has time to process what’s happening, the Michaelmas term has ended and the streets are even more full of Christmas cheer than usual, but also conspicuously empty of the normal swirling mass of students.  


Stiles watches all of this with a slight sense of wistfulness. Christmas has been slowly taking over the shops since what feels like about June, and it’s working up to fever pitch now. This time last year, Stiles was on his way back to California to see his dad for the first time in the better part of three months. This year he won’t be going back until the summer, because flights are expensive and he’s technically old enough and emotionally mature enough that he can spend Christmas without his dad. Technically is the key word here though.  


Still, there are other things to look forward to, namely Stiles’ birthday and meeting Derek’s family, both of which come under the heading of _seriously awesome_. Lydia has actually threatened to sedate Stiles a couple of times, because his excitement is so explosive and all-encompassing that he presents something of a danger to others and inanimate objects. Boyd has been observing this with a wry amusement. Derek just looks sort of fond, yet long-suffering. It shouldn’t be such an appealing combination as it is.  


Whatever. Stiles Stilinski is man enough to admit that he’s totally in love with a strange Irish wolfman – and that pretty much everything that said strange Irish wolfman does makes him go all mushy.  


He may or may not be man enough to admit that the idea of meeting Derek’s family simultaneously thrills and terrifies him. In fact, he’s pretty much just in deep, deep denial about the whole thing, because if he thinks about it too much he starts remembering that he is a grade-A dork roughly 95% of the time, who cannot keep his mouth shut and has a tendency to babble about highly inappropriate topics when nervous. Stiles fervently does _not_ think about that time with Mrs Hamilton and the lengthy discourse that he had launched into about male circumcision and the role of Eunuchs in history, because it makes him feel a little ill even now, a full five years later.  


So yeah. Meeting Derek’s family? Thrilling and terrifying.  


Of course, Stiles doesn’t mention any of this to Derek because he’s both an idiot and also well aware that he’ll only say it in a way that makes Derek end up calling the whole trip off. And this would be fine – for the most part – if it weren’t for the fact that when they get off the plane at Dublin airport, Stiles descends into a full-blown panic attack, which winds up with him being _literally_ sedated, albeit lightly. In turn, this means that instead of arriving at the Hale family home after a short half-hour drive through Dublin and out the other side, it’s a full two and a half hours before they pull up outside the house. Admittedly, Stiles can now breath like a normal human being and has no black spots in his vision, but still… as first impressions go, well, it’s far from ideal.  


‘I’m really sorry’, he says to Derek, turning on his best apologetic puppy eyes for good measure. ‘Like, really, _really_ sorry.’  


Derek rolls his eyes and leans across presses a soft kiss to his lips. ‘You are an eejit, you know that right?’ he asks softly. Then he squeezes Stiles hand. ‘Come on. My mother will be having kittens if she doesn’t get to feed someone soon.’  


Stiles groans again at that, because it’s now just after seven, well past whenever dinner was probably planned and oh god the Hales are going to _hate_ him. Derek shoots him a look.  


‘That was out loud, wasn’t it?’ Stiles asks sheepishly. Derek nods, expression weary.  


‘They’re going to _love_ you’, he says insistently, with just a hint of the growl in his voice that Stiles has come to really, really like. ‘Now come _on_.’ And with that, Derek gets out of the car. Stiles briefly contemplates just locking himself inside and refusing to come out, until he remembers that Derek has the keys. Cursing to himself, he gets out and goes to grab his bags. Then there’s nothing to do but walk towards the front door, behind which lies unknown terrors in the form of Derek’s family members. Stiles takes a shaky breath.  


‘Hey’, Derek says, his voice soft. ‘Look at me.’ Stiles does as he’s told, taking in the unusually gentle look on his boyfriend’s face. ‘It’s going to be fine. I promise.’ Then Derek’s smiling, one of the sweet, genuine smiles that are still rare even now, and it’s enough to make Stiles smile back, the tension in his body loosening just a little. He nods.  


‘Ok. Let’s do this.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the Hales appear in the next part! In the meantime, do leave a comment if you liked/loved/hated this - I always enjoy feedback.


	2. Ireland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the Hales. Mischief and mayhem ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my gift two people: [Godbriel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Godbriel/pseuds/Godbriel), who is the reason I started this series, and [Donatello](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Donatello/pseuds/Donatello), who is the reason I finished it.
> 
> And to all my wonderful readers who've left me comments or kudos and stuck with this series even though it's been very slow work in progress: I hope you enjoy this chapter.

The last echoes of the doorbell are still hanging in the air when the door opens, and Stiles is face to face with a woman in her twenties who is the spitting image of Derek. She grins at the pair of them wolfishly (seriously, what _is_ it with this family and wolves?) and says in accent every bit as Irish as Derek’s, ‘Hey there little bro. Good to know you’re still rocking the whole modern-day Heathcliff, ‘I like to brood’ thing’, at which point Stiles has to choke back a laugh. The woman looks at him, gives him a critical once over, then extends her hand for him to shake. ‘I’m Laura, Derek’s older, vastly superior sister. And you must be the famous Stiles Stilinski.’ She grins, eyes sparkling mischievously. ‘I have to ask – why the hell are you dating my doofus kid brother?’ 

This time, Stiles can’t quite manage to hold his laughter in. He’s still chuckling as he shakes Laura’s hand. He’s also desperately avoiding Derek’s gaze, although he can _feel_ the death-glare he’s currently on the receiving end of even if he can’t see it. 

‘It’s nice to meet you, Laura. And as for your question… he was persistent enough that in the end it was a lot easier just to give in than to resist.’ 

Laura raises an eyebrow. ‘You mean he stalked you into submission?’ 

As Derek seems to be in imminent danger of reaching critical mass and having an outburst of truly epic proportions, it’s a very good thing that at that moment a small, plump woman appears in the hall behind Laura. She gives a cry when she sees them at the door. 

‘Oh, look at the pair of you standing out there in the cold! Laura, let in them in for goodness sake – they look freezing and you’re letting all the hot air in the house out.’ The woman bustles up to them and smiles broadly. Then she makes a sound almost like a sob and her arms around Derek, burying her face in his chest for a long moment. Stiles watches with interest as all the tension and irritation bleed out of his boyfriend in seconds, Derek’s face taking on an unusually tender look. A minute or two later, the woman takes a step back and reaches up to pinch his cheek. 

‘And when’s the last time you shaved?’ she says sharply. ‘I know all the magazines love it, but I won’t have you under my roof looking like some scruffy teenager. You shave it off before dinner, do you hear me?’ 

Derek – much to Stiles’ surprise – actually grins, his eyes warm. ‘Sure thing, Ma’, he says easily. ‘And it’s good to see you too.’ Then he turns to Stiles, sliding his arm around his mother’s shoulders. ‘Stiles, this is my mother, Diane. Ma, this is Stiles, my boyfriend.’ 

Stiles is about to say hello when Diane looks him up and down, shakes her head sadly and says in a mournful tone, ‘Oh, but you’re so _thin_.’ And then she literally _clucks her tongue_ , before continuing with, ‘Derek, are you not feeding him properly? I mean, I know boys like you two have other things to be getting up to than eating, but still…’ 

Stiles feels his jaw drop. Derek freezes, his expression somewhere between amusement and abject horror. By comparison, Laura clearly finds the whole thing hilarious, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter, her eyes twinkling. Diane clucks her tongue again. 

‘Now look at me keeping you outside just like Laura did. Come on inside the pair of you and we’ll talk more when you’ve had a chance to warm up.’ And then she bustles inside again, indicating for everyone to follow her. ‘You can take your things upstairs now – your father and the boys have gone out to the pub, so you’ve got time to settle in before dinner. Derek, I meant what I said about that scruff on your chin – I want it _gone_. And mind you’re quick about it – I’ll not have any hanky-panky under my roof before dinner.’ She glances at her wristwatch. ‘If you’re not downstairs in twenty minutes I’ll be coming up to get you.’ When neither of them moves, Diane raises her eyebrows. ‘Well get to it! We haven’t got all day here.’ 

Stiles would find the way Derek practically jumps to do as he’s told funny – if he wasn’t doing exactly the same thing. 

‘Twenty minutes!’ Diane calls up the stairs after them. Stiles almost breaks into a run. 

* * *

They’re back downstairs in eighteen and a half minutes, minus their bags and – in Derek’s case – a lot of stubble. Derek leads the way through the house to an enormous kitchen that has to take up at least a quarter of the ground floor. Stiles is in awe, and not just because his appetite reappears with a vengeance (in an entirely predictable move) when the delicious smell of cooking food hits him. 

Diane looks up from the pan she’s stirring on the Aga as they come in, giving them a smile. She takes in Derek’s clean-shaven jaw. ‘Oh, that looks _so_ much nicer’, she says approvingly. ‘Now pull up a chair and have something to eat – I expect you’re both hungry after such a long journey.’ 

‘Ma, isn’t it almost time for dinner?’ Derek says, even though he makes no move to do anything other than what he’s been told. Diane sends him a scathing glance over her shoulder. 

‘Derek, what kind of a hostess would I be if I didn’t offer the two of you some refreshments?’ She sighs like she’s disappointed and turns back to whatever she’s stirring. Stiles sneaks a glance over at Derek. He looks pretty chastened. The overall impression is of a sad, sad little wolf puppy. Stiles starts to feel like he’s entered an alternate reality. 

The feeling grows as Stiles is introduced to another four of Derek’s relatives – three female cousins and an aunt, all of whom welcome him with big smiles and seemingly genuine happiness. It’s stupid really – Stiles is totally aware that Derek can’t _actually_ have been raised by wolves, or some spectacularly monosyllabic and broody types. It’s just… the reality of Derek’s family (well, the women anyway) is that everyone is super friendly and chatty. And as silly as it sounds, Stiles finds it kind of a shock to the system, not least because he’s never met anyone as chatty as he is – until now. 

‘Oh dear, we’re overcrowding the poor boy’, Diane says a few minutes later. She grabs his arm and tugs him across to the table, where she sits him down and gives him a glass of water. ‘You just sit there and catch your breath. We’ll have a proper chat in a bit.’ 

Derek snorts. ‘Ma, I think he’s in shock’, he says drily. ‘I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Stiles speechless. It takes a lot to achieve.’ 

Diane raises an eyebrow at that. ‘Now you keep what happens in the bedroom to yourself, Derek’, she says sharply. ‘There’s no need to be sharing private business like that with everyone.’ 

Stiles sneaks a look at Derek and has to bite back a chuckle, because not only does his boyfriend look scandalised, but he’s also blushing fiercely, _fiercely_ red. From the hallway, there’s the sound of slamming doors and male voices. Derek mumbles something about going to use the bathroom before disappearing out of the kitchen, but it’s blatantly obvious that he’s just gone in search of less threatening (i.e. _male_ ) company. Diane smiles and then turns to Stiles. 

‘Looks like we’ve got you all to ourselves’, she says, oh so cheerfully. Stiles definitely doesn’t shrink in his seat. Not at all. 

As it turns out though, the interrogation isn’t nearly as bad as he expects it to be, given the circumstances surrounding the visit and the whole issue of crazy-ex-girlfriend Kate Argent. Ok, so there are some fairly, uh, _probing_ questions (Hales apparently have no shame. Literally none at all.) but in fairness it’s not like his father didn’t grill Derek, albeit a little more subtly. And Scott did do a whole twenty questions thing, not in the least bit subtly. And Lydia did make a whole _file_ on Derek – the origins of which Stiles still isn’t too keen to look into. 

So yeah, the initial questions aren’t that bad, although Stiles does feel considerably less inclined to talk about his sex life ever again. And by the time he’s eaten a ton of snacks and told the Hale women a slightly revised version of his life story, he’s apparently got the maternal/female seal of approval. 

Yeah, he’s _so_ the man. 

Of course, then Stiles has to try and win over the male side of the family, which includes Derek’s dad Jerry, his two brothers (one older, one younger), his cousin and his creepy-ass uncle. Truthfully though, Stiles finds the men of the family (with one exception) a lot less frightening than the women. This may or may not be all Lydia’s fault – until he met her, he had _no_ idea just how capable women truly are of ruining lives. 

The one exception to the less-scary male Hales (ha, he totally made a rhyme) is Peter, Derek’s uncle. Peter’s got a slightly American accent and is creepy on many, many levels. He makes Stiles feel like a particularly appealing Thai lady-boy in a brothel, which is _not_ a feeling Stiles is interested in experiencing. He makes a mental note to tell Derek if Peter gets too scary. 

Stiles also fleetingly wishes Lydia could be there with him; he has a sneaking suspicion that she and Peter in a room together would provide entertainment on an almost Joss Whedon level of epicness. Maybe not though – Joss truly is a genius. 

After an hour or two, Stiles’ conversation apparently gets as tangential as his thoughts, because when Derek excuses them nobody bats an eyelid, just cheerfully bidding them both goodnight. Then they head upstairs, Stiles hanging on to Derek’s hand and feeling remarkably like a sleepy child as he’s lead up what feels like about ten staircases and down _miles_ of corridors – he definitely doesn’t remember their room being this far away before. 

‘This is us’, Derek says with a smile, pushing the door to his bedroom open. 

Stiles blinks slowly. ‘Us?’ 

Derek raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah, us. As in you and I and the room we’re sleeping in. Remember? Now get inside before you fall asleep against the wall.’ Stiles grins tiredly. 

‘I love it when you get all caveman’, he says. ‘It’s so sexy.’ 

Derek’s only response is to push him inside and slap him on the ass. And Stiles would totally make a comment about predictability if it weren’t for the fact that moments later, his head hits the pillow and he’s dead to the world. 

* * *

He and Derek decide to forgo morning sex after almost giving Diane an eyeful the first day –she laughingly brings it up at breakfast and Stiles almost chokes to death on his coffee. Still, the next couple of days pass smoothly enough; Derek’s family are super-friendly, welcoming Stiles into their home like he belongs there. Unfortunately, Peter Hale remains a little _too_ friendly for Stiles’ taste – the Thai lady-boy/psycho killer’s victim feeling is really not one Stiles wants to get comfortable with – but thankfully he seems to specialise in lurking in corners, so for the most part Stiles is safe. And Stiles is totally willing to ignore Peter, because the rest of the family seem to be perfectly normal. With the possible exception of Derek, that is. 

Derek, for reasons that Stiles can’t fathom, somehow seems to be labouring under the impression that Stiles is having a bad time. The night before Stiles’ birthday, as they’re getting ready for bed, he asks – yet again – if Stiles is enjoying himself. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

‘No, I’m having a horrible time and I hate everything’, he says drily. He shakes his head and sighs. ‘It’s seriously a mystery to me how you’re _this_ insecure – have you _seen_ you lately? Or met your family? Because it’s like you don’t even realise how amazing you are or how much of a completely _awesome_ vacation I’m having right now. Ok?’ 

Derek scowls at him, which (in lieu of Derek actually _using his words_ like the grown-up he supposedly is) means that things are ok. Stiles knows this by now because scowling is pretty much Derek’s default facial expression, and learning to read the nuances of his scowl is something Stiles learned pretty quickly back when they first started dating. So he grins like the annoying little shit he knows he is, and says: 

‘Cheer up Sourwolf! Unless a member of your family kidnaps me to keep as their own personal sex slave, everything’s going to be fine!’ 

Derek carries on scowling, but he does manage to say, ‘Peter’s making you uncomfortable?’ 

Stiles raises his eyebrows. ‘Honestly, I think Peter would make Mother Theresa uncomfortable’, he replies. ‘And I think the fact you automatically assumed it was him means you know that.’ He walks around the bed and kisses Derek quickly. ‘It’s cool though. I know you’ll total save me if I get kidnapped.’ 

This makes _Derek_ raise his eyebrows. ‘You’re such a freak’, he mutters. He sounds borderline affectionate though, so Stiles isn’t worried. Then Derek frowns a little. ‘You’re definitely ok though? I know it must be hard spending your first birthday and Christmas away from your dad.’ 

Stiles gapes. ‘What? I mean – what?’ He blinks. ‘Are you actually asking about my emotional wellbeing? Is this real? Because I swear, sometimes I forget that you’re actually capable of stringing together sentences.’ 

Derek snarls. Stiles laughs, and then has to resist the urge to continue mocking Derek. He bites his lip and thinks for a second before he answers. ‘Yeah, it sucks a little bit.’ Then he shrugs. ‘This was always going to happen sometime though, right? At least here I have you.’ He smiles a little. ‘Plus I’m having a really good time here, even if you’re not seeing it. So yeah, it’s kind of sad, but that doesn’t mean I’m not glad to be here.’ 

Derek nods. ‘I’m understand’, is all he says, but that doesn’t mean Stiles doesn’t notice the way the tension seeps out of him. Then Stiles stops noticing anything, because Derek pulls him in for the kind of kiss that makes his legs pretty much cease to function or exist. And then… then Derek gets into bed and turns out the light, because he is literally the world’s biggest cock-teasing asshole – innuendo totally not intended. He’s asleep in what seems like moments. 

By contrast, Stiles stubs his toe trying to find his way into bed, then spends the next hour muttering balefully to himself and trying to will away his raging hard-on so he can get some sleep. It is _distinctly_ uncool. 

When he wakes up (neither bright nor early), Stiles fully intends to sulk at Derek until he gets a minimum of three sentences praising all things Stiles Stilinski and then a further three of deeply apologetic grovelling over Derek’s terrible cock-teasing behaviour the night before. What he actually gets is Derek in fully wolf-man mode, pinning him to the bed and doing terrible, _terrible_ things to him, which make Stiles squirm and pant and bite his own fist so he doesn’t moan too loudly. By the time Derek’s reduced him to an incoherent, babbling mess and then sucked him off as superbly skilfully as ever, Stiles is feeling magnanimous enough to forget Derek’s previous offences and return the favour. 

‘Ok, so it’s not quite the mind-blowing sex I was hoping for when I first thought you’d still be around for my birthday, but I’m not gonna lie – that was _awesome_ ’, he says a little while later. Derek chuckles roughly and leans over to kiss him. 

‘Happy birthday’, he says, his voice still deliciously morning-rough. Stiles makes a contented noise and claims Derek’s mouth again, just because he can. It’s a full ten minutes later before either of them properly pull away. This time Stiles makes a deeply discontented noise. 

_‘Why?’_ he asks piteously. _‘Why?’_

Derek makes a rueful face. ‘Ma’s probably not going to be happy if we don’t go down for breakfast sometime soon.’ 

At that exact moment, Derek’s phone buzzes. Groaning, he reaches over and checks it. He shakes his head after a moment, chuckling slightly. ‘That’s what I mean’, he says, handing it over to Stiles. 

The text is from Laura. It reads: _Ma says if you’re not downstairs in fifteen, she’s going to put the two of you in separate bedrooms for the rest of the trip, Christmas spirit be damned._ Stiles grins despite himself. Derek makes a face at him. 

‘Still think my mother’s so wonderful?’ he asks. Stiles smirks and smacks a kiss on his lips. 

‘Absolutely!’ he declares. ‘I think she’s hilarious.’ Then he rolls out of bed and heads for the bathroom as quickly as possible, because Derek is a terrible shower hog and Stiles has no desire to go downstairs smelling like come. 

Exactly eight and three-quarter minutes later, he and Derek walk into the huge kitchen of the Hale house. And then they stop. 

Sitting at the table with her back to them is a girl with a body that would make Hollywood weep and strawberry blonde hair that Stiles would know _anywhere_. Her hands are gesturing gracefully as she talks and Stiles feels his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. 

Diane looks up at that moment, smiling widely at them both. ‘Good morning boys – it’s nice of you to finally join us! And Stiles, you have a visitor. Your friend came over for your birthday – isn’t that nice?’ 

Stiles grins, even though his eyes are tearing up. ‘Yeah’, he says. ‘It’s lovely. Some people might even call it sweet.’ 

Lydia turns around, eyebrows raised. ‘Don’t go getting ideas, Stilinski’, she says sharply. But she’s up from her chair and hugging him fiercely a second later, because if there’s one person Lydia Martin is soft-hearted about, it’s Stiles. 

The hug ends when Lydia starts squirming – a sure sign that if Stiles doesn’t let her go soon, there’ll be bruised (possibly bloody) shins in his future – at which point Stiles is then swept up into a hug by Diane. She holds on to him for far longer than he expects, which makes him tear up all over again, because he’s a complete sucker for affectionate parents. Then he’s sat down next to Lydia and presented with more food than should be humanly possible to fit on one table. His eyes grow wider and wider with each new dish. Derek, on the other hand, looks more and more frowny. 

‘Ma, it’s breakfast’, he says after a minute or two. ‘We don’t need all this food. Nobody’s going to have any room for lunch.’ 

His mother raises an eyebrow. ‘Now you be quiet, Derek. Just because you only eat toast and drink that disgusting black coffee you like, it doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t appreciate a good spread. Besides, I didn’t want Stiles thinking we’d forgotten that it’s his birthday.’ 

‘Ma, how does making food having anything to do with Stiles’ birthday?’ 

This is the point where Diane sends her son a Look of Doom. ‘Derek, would you just eat your food!’ Then she smiles at Stiles. ‘You eat as much as you like dear – I know _you’ve_ got an appetite at least, and small wonder given that you’re so thin.’ She glares at Derek again. ‘Mind you’re not wearing him down, Derek. You need to be considerate of Stiles’ _other_ needs sometimes.’ 

At the end of the table, Jerry makes a choking sound, the tips of his ears going red. Stiles just watches Derek’s alternate blushing and scowling with great amusement, while Lydia makes no attempt to hide the smile on her face. It’s at that point – in amidst general giggling from the rest of the Hales and a creepy, creepy smile from Peter – that Stiles realises something’s missing. 

‘Where’s Laura? And Boyd?’ He looks at Lydia accusingly. ‘You didn’t leave him by himself in the house did you?’ 

Lydia gives Stiles a look that tells him he’s about to want to do some serious grovelling. ‘Of course not’, she snaps. ‘I brought him with me, obviously.’ 

‘Laura’s giving him a tour of the house’, Derek’s cousin Caitlin says around a mouthful of cereal. ‘She said it was better than sitting and waiting for the two of you to get up.’ 

Caitlin’s younger sister Niamh smirks. ‘She thought Boyd might find the house _interesting_ cause he’s an historian.’ 

Derek frowns. Stiles makes a mental note to ask about that later – clearly there’s something he’s missed here – but doesn’t worry too much in the meantime. After all, it’s his birthday and he has breakfast and Lydia – what more could he ask for? 

Apparently the answer is an _enormous_ roast dinner (beef, cooked to perfection) for lunch, complete with all the trimmings, including enough Yorkshire Puddings to feed a small army, preluded by a huge hug from Boyd, who reappears with a distinctly predatory-looking Laura (which explains a lot) just before the meal. And although all the laws of physics and the universe dictate that Stiles should be unable to eat another bite after the breakfast he put away, he still manages to put away a decent first _and_

‘My dad always used to say I have hollow legs’, he says. ‘And it’s been a while since I had roast beef. Sorry.’ 

Diane fixes him with a look. ‘Never apologise for having a good appetite’, she says, sounding adamant and also a bit like she’s holding back tears. She reaches for his plate. 

‘Would you like another Yorkshire Pudding? Some more carrots?’ 

Lydia giggles slightly. ‘Diane, I don’t think you understand what you’ve just done – Stiles is _never_ going to leave now. And then he’ll eat you out of house and home.’ 

Stiles is so busy sending Lydia a telepathic message (it’s something along the lines of _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you_ ) he almost doesn’t notice the way Diane’s face goes all soft and tender. 

‘Well, I can certainly think of worse things’, she says. ‘It’s not like we wouldn’t be happy to see him stick around.’ 

Derek’s fingers twine with his under the table. Stiles feels his heart give a _squeeze_ , something that only usually happens when he’s confronted with adorable babies or Scott’s most pleading puppy eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. 

Luckily he’s saved by Boyd, who cuts in at that point to ask if he can have more food too. Diane then goes into full-blown mother hen mode and dishes out more food left, right and centre, as well as listing off several more dishes she could get, ‘If anybody needs anything else.’ It takes a good ten minutes to convince her not to disappear into the kitchen again, although Stiles knows for a fact that she’ll just bring out another few puddings when it’s time for dessert. 

After pudding - which even Stiles will admit to being a bit of a stretch – everyone disappears to their own respective corners, supposedly to do chores and such. Stiles suspects the reality is that most of the family are going to have a mid-afternoon nap, because he certainly is. Settling into one of the super-comfy sofas in the Hale family snug, he shuts his eyes and breathes a deep sigh of contentment. Minutes later, he’s asleep and dreaming. 

* * *

‘Wake _up_ Stiles, your comics are on fire!’  


Stiles bolts straight up, heart hammering in his chest as he heaves a breath of air. ‘What? Where?’ he asks, looking around in a blind panic, eyes searching the room for his precious comics. It takes him a couple of seconds to realise that he’s not at home and that Lydia’s standing over him, smirking.  


‘And _that_ is how you get Stiles to wake up in less than five seconds’, she says smugly. Laura Hale stares at her with something like awe.  


‘That’s amazing’, she says. Then she shakes her head and grins. ‘You know, he and Derek are just as pathetically nerdy as each other.’  


Lydia grins back. ‘It’s brilliant, right?’ She sighs happily, before turning to fix Stiles with a look that tells him he’s going to roll over like a good boy or suffer in the immediate future. ‘It’s time to get up Stiles. Everyone wants you to open your presents so we can eat cake.’  


Stiles glares at her. ‘Nice to know everyone’s being so thoughtful’, he grumbles. ‘It’s not like it’s my special day or anything.’ Lydia rolls her eyes.  


‘Stiles, you’ve been asleep for almost three hours – it’s nearly six o’clock! And those of us who didn’t stuff ourselves at lunch are getting hungry.’  


‘Whatever, traitor’, Stiles mutters. ‘You promised you wouldn’t use the comics thing again after last time.’  


Lydia arches an eyebrow drily. ‘I can take your present back to the store you know’, she says sharply. ‘Don’t think I won’t.’  


Stiles sighs heavily, feeling deeply put-upon and unappreciated. ‘Fine’, he says sulkily. ‘I’m coming.’ And he allows himself to be herded into the kitchen, where everyone’s waiting for him, gathered around the table. The table which is _covered_ in presents and food.  


Instantly, his mood improves and he feels a grin stretching itself across his face. ‘This looks _amazing_ ’, he says. He beams at everyone. ‘Thank you so much!’  


‘ _So_ fickle’, he hears Lydia muttering behind him. He subtly flips her the bird and moves to take the seat that Derek pulls out for him, grinning like an idiot all the while.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Stiles is not quite ready to slip into a food coma like he did after lunch, but that’s not to say he’s not stuffed to the brim, not to mention being exhausted from the serious effort involved in opening all his presents. Around him lies a debris of wrapping paper and crumb-covered plates – all that remains of the super-delicious birthday cake Diane had baked him in the shape of Spiderman’s head, because she really is incredible – and various people who’ve overdone it on the high tea that was served before cake.  


‘I’m going to be in the gym for _weeks_ when we get back to uni’, Derek groans from beside him. ‘You’re a terrible influence, Stiles.’  


‘I’ve been telling him that for years’, Lydia says from over the other side of the table, her eyes closed and her head resting back on her chair. ‘I seriously doubt he’s going to start agreeing now.’  


Stiles scowls, offended. ‘The pair of you are the worst, most disloyal best friend and boyfriend in the world. If I was a less generous, kind person, I’d tell the both of you to get lost.’  


Lydia cracks open her eyes and shares a look with Derek for a second before both of them both start laughing. Stiles makes a mental note to disown them both at some point where the fate of his Christmas presents isn’t in the balance.  


‘I don’t have to stand for this on my birthday’, he says with a martyred air. Then he gets up and heads towards the door. ‘I’m going to read a book.’  


He’s ten minutes into a fantastically old copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula that he found in the living room when Derek appears, settling on the sofa beside him and taking the book out of his hands, ignoring all protestations.  


‘I love you’, he says seriously, his eyes intense. ‘You know that right, regardless of how I act?’  


Stiles nods, smiling at yet another reminder of why Derek is the best boyfriend in the world. ‘I know.’ He chuckles, warmth blossoming in his chest. ‘Trust me, if I didn’t we’d never have made it this far – for an English student, you pretty much suck at using your words.’  


Derek raises an eyebrow at that. ‘I’ve never heard you complaining when I don’t’, he says.  


Stiles is a split-second away from loudly and profusely objecting to this statement when Derek picks up his hand and presses a kiss to the palm, then his wrist, before moving on to mouth softly at the spot on his neck that makes Stiles melt into a puddle in about five seconds flat. As Derek’s mouth travels down his neck to his collarbone, sucking a hickey just underneath his sweater, all thoughts of protest are forgotten.  


Laura’s voice is a hugely undesirable interruption. ‘Oh god, please stop groping each other – I sit on that sofa on a daily basis.’ She ignores the glares they give her as they pull apart and grins at them. ‘People are getting grumpy and Ma is doing the whole, “I’ll have no fighting in this house at Christmas” thing, so she’s told us to go to the Hanged Man. Anyway, I’m telling you so you can organise everyone – I’m going on ahead with Boyd. See you!’ And then she disappears.  


‘Should I be worried about Boyd?’ Derek asks. Stiles shrugs.  


‘He lives with me and Lydia. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Anyway, I’m way more worried about the fact that your sister and Lydia might wind up being friends; that doesn’t bode well for anyone. If anything, I’m kind of hoping Boyd distracts Laura enough that she and Lydia don’t have time to bond.’  


Derek nods slowly, his eyes wide and almost fearful. ‘But how do we distract Lydia?’  


Stiles shrugs. ‘Alcohol?’  


And that’s how – a good half an hour later – Stiles ends up wrapping up like an eskimo and traipsing along country lanes in the moonlight, with seven Hales and Lydia for company. By the time they reach the pub, he’s out of breathe from laughing and the tip of his nose feels like it’s about to fall off. It’s a welcome relief to get inside, where the lights are casting a soft golden light and a large fire is throwing out warmth along with a pleasant smoky smell. Certainly, it’s not the biggest or best pub Stiles has ever been in, but it’s clean and the atmosphere’s good so he’s not complaining.  


A quick scan of the room shows Boyd and Laura at one end of the bar, both with a pint in hand and seemingly having a good time, if the wicked grin on Laura’s face and Boyd’s small smirk are anything to go by. _Mission accomplished_ , Stiles thinks.  


‘Who is _that?’_  


He turns back to the group and sees Lydia nodding in the direction of the bar. He follows her gaze and finds himself looking at a tall, attractive boy and a buxom girl with a grin that’s borderline predatory and a thick mane of wavy hair falling around her shoulders and down her back.  


‘Which one?’ Derek’s cousin Neil asks. Stiles rolls his eyes a little.  


‘That’s Erica’, Derek’s little brother Jack says, because apparently at least one of the other Hales isn’t _completely_ dense. He grins at Lydia. ‘Good luck.’  


Lydia inclines her head in graceful acknowledgement. ‘Thank you.’ Then she shimmies out of her coat like a film star, flips back her hair and walks over to the bar like the ground owes her a favour.  


‘She’s not about to get her hand broken or something, is she?’ Stiles asks Derek, not taking his eyes off Lydia. He feels more than sees Derek shrugging.  


‘I don’t think so. Erica’s... open-minded. I doubt she’ll be offended – she might even go for it, if Lydia plays her cards right.’  


‘So she’ll be ok?’  


Derek shrugs again. ‘Unless she pisses off Isaac, she should be fine.’  


Stiles looks away from the bar to meet Derek’s eye. ‘Isaac’s either her boyfriend or her brother, right?’  


Derek shakes his head. ‘No. They’re just best friends – kind of like you and Lydia, expect they sleep together from time to time.  


‘Ah’, Stiles says, because that explains the vibe he’s got from watching the two of them. ‘Well, Lydia’s capable of handling herself. And Erica’ll certainly keep her attention occupied.’ He smiles happily. ‘Want to get a drink and play pool?’  


Derek grins. ‘Sure, if you think you can deal with losing _again_.’  


‘Rude!’ Stiles says indignantly. ‘I’ve beaten you before.’  


‘Yeah, once’, Derek says drily.  


‘It was definitely more than once!’ Stiles protests. Then he shakes his head. ‘You know what, it doesn’t matter, because I am going to kick your ass tonight. But first, we need drinks.’

* * *

A couple of hours and several games of pool later, Stiles is facing the unfortunate truth that he really does suck at pool. As Derek once again wins, he lays down his pool stick with a sigh.  


‘Ok, ok, so I’m never going to kick your ass at pool. Can we go home now? I don’t think my fragile ego can handle anymore, especially not on my birthday.’  
Derek nods. ‘Sure. I’ll grab our coats.’  


‘I’ll find Lydia’, Stiles calls after him, and heads in the direction of where he saw Lydia last – the bar. It doesn’t look like she’s moved from her spot, where she’s sipping what has to be at least her third glass of champagne, if not her fourth. She gives him a sly smile when she sees him, looking for all the world like some off-duty celebrity.  


‘I take it you’re heading home?’  


‘Yep’, Stiles replies. ‘Want to come with?’ Lydia shakes her head.  


‘Erica promised to show me how to pull a pint after closing time’, she says, her eyes wide an innocent. ‘And I might get a tour of the bar too.’  


Stiles can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. ‘You’re a terrible human being’, he tells her affectionately. Then a thought strikes him. ‘But then I won’t see you before you go back to England.’  


Lydia shakes her head again. ‘Diane’s invited Boyd and I to stay over Christmas’, she says. ‘And I may or may not have brought a suitcase with me just in case.’  


‘Seriously, _terrible_ human being!’ Stiles presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘But I’m really glad.’  


‘Me too’, she replies, smiling. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you later. Probably tomorrow, actually.’  


Stiles shakes his head and grins. ‘See you!’ he calls over his shoulder, heading to the door where Derek’s waiting. He shrugs on his coat, winds his scarf around his neck and nods. ‘Shall we go?’  


Derek smiles. ‘Sure’, he says, slipping his hand into Stiles’. Together, they step out into the night, and Stiles takes a moment to take in the beauty of it all – the icy roads and the way the frost sparkles under the moon. Then they slowly start walking back towards the Hales’.  


‘You know, I heard it might be going to snow’, he says conversationally.  


Derek nods. ‘Mmm, me too. But you never know.’  


Stiles nods. ‘I know.’ He stops, tugging on Derek’s hand so that his boyfriend will look at him. ‘It doesn’t matter though, because I just have this feeling that everything’s going to be….perfect. You know?’  


Derek grins at him. ‘You’re such a sap’, he says, his voice low and affectionate. ‘And you’ll probably change your mind when you meet my grandmother and the rest of the family.’ He pauses. ‘But I hope you don’t.’ Then he presses a kiss to Stiles’ lips, then another and another, until it’s hard to know where one ends and the next begins. Finally, he pulls away and murmurs, ‘Happy birthday.’  


And even though he’s freezing cold, can’t feel his toes and kind of needs to pee, Stiles feels like the luckiest guy in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.


End file.
